


With a Little Help From My Friends

by DinerGuy



Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: Action, Also whoever let Camille drive really needs to rethink their decision-making processes, And whatever the word is for Maggie being ready to ground every one of her lab rats, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Really how hard is it for them to SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP FOR ONCE IN THEIR LIVES, Suspense, Whump, casefic, teamfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 10:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10660797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinerGuy/pseuds/DinerGuy
Summary: It was a normal assignment: find out who killed the John Doe from the park. The problem? His memories implicate a mysteriously absent Fisher as the murderer. Can the team find the truth -- and their teammate -- before it’s too late?





	With a Little Help From My Friends

**Author's Note:**

> But honestly. Where are all the good whumpy and humorous team fics? Am I just missing them? How’s a girl to deal with hiatus withdrawls from an amazing show she just discovered and binged her way through if she can’t find any good fic? Oh… yeah, I suppose I could write one. That is a thing.
> 
> Of course, standard disclaimers apply. As usual, I own nothing but a few tiny original characters and the plot and my basic sentences themselves.

The elevator doors opened, and Kirsten stepped into the brightly-lit lab that had become her second home. To any outside observer, this deep sublevel didn’t exist, but Kirsten and her teammates had long since gotten used to it—and to the clandestine technology that let them tap into the memories of the recently deceased. She stopped mid-stride as she nearly ran into Cameron, who was hurrying across the walkway, absorbed in whatever content was on the tablet in his hands.

He looked up in apology. “Oh, hey, good morning, Kirsten,” he greeted, making the briefest of eye contact before going back to whatever was on the screen in his hands.

“Good morning to you, too,” she responded with a shake of her head. Glancing past her teammate to the semi-opaque container that held a man’s body, she raised an eyebrow. “Who do we have today?”

The question seemed to get Cameron’s attention, and he looked up in acknowledgment. “That,” he inclined his head towards the center of the room, “would be John Doe.” His eyes twinkled with excitement at the mystery that was before them. “He was found in the park early this morning. No ID, and his fingerprints didn’t register in the system.”

“We need you to find out who he is and exactly why he was killed,” came a woman’s voice from above the duo. They turned to see Maggie standing at the top of a staircase leading up to several offices. The older woman looked Kirsten in the eye. “The news of a jogger being murdered in a city park is, understandably, not going over well with the public. The police need answers immediately.”

At the mention of law enforcement, Kirsten glanced around the lab with a furrowed brow. “Wait. Where’s Fisher? Isn’t he usually here by now, especially with this kind of case?”

“He’s not in yet,” Maggie told her, “but we don’t need him until we find out this man’s identity and killer. You focus on that; I’ll focus on Detective Fisher.”

Less than ten minutes later, the team was gathered in the workspace in the middle of the lab. Kirsten had changed into a wetsuit that had been designed specifically for the project, and she now hurried up a metal staircase to the large glass tank. The water was warmed to precisely 98.6 degrees, and it, along with the reclined chair inside, would allow her to fully integrate her senses into the experience.

“Comm check, one, two,” Cameron’s voice came through the device in her ear.

“I can hear you,” she replied with a nod and a thumbs-up gesture.

“Great!” Cameron grinned. “Okay, team. I need a go or no go for stitch neurosync.”

As the team members at each of the stations around the room responded in the positive, Kirsten settled into her seat and prepared herself to be suddenly immersed in the memories of their John Doe. She knew Cameron was most likely making some sort of movie reference, but she tuned him out and focused on the job. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and then, with a rush, she was in. She focused her mind and was rewarded with the sight of a scene from John Doe’s memories as vividly as if she was actually there. She was in a park, watching as he jogged down the sidewalk, clad in a dark sweatshirt and stocking cap. Trees rose up on either side of her, and the concrete of a jogging path curved off into the distance ahead.

Suddenly, she realized the trees surrounding her were flickering in and out of focus. Kirsten squinted to bring them into focus.

“What do you see, Stretch?” Cameron’s voice came through her ear. He must have noticed something in her expression, judging from the friendly concern in his voice.

Kirsten tried again but still had no success. “I don't know,” she told him. “Everything's… fading in and out, almost like a glitchy computer.”

“Linus?” Maggie asked, looking across the lab to where one of the staff was frantically studying his computer monitor.

The young man shook his head. “I’m not seeing anything in particular here…”

“Well it’s got to be something,” Camille spoke up from beside him. She leaned over Linus’s shoulder to look at the display with him. “Unless our John Doe had a vision problem we don’t know about—oh wait, we don’t know _anything_ about him,” she added, aiming her last comment at Maggie.

Linus shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t explain this reading here,” he pointed. “It looks like it’s just… corrupted somehow. Like the links between his memories aren’t as strong as they should be, so not everything is available for Kirsten to see.”

“Okay, Stretch,” Cameron turned his attention back to Kirsten. “We’re having an issue with his memory paths, so just try to look past the glitches and see what you can see. You should be in his last memory. Is there anyone else around?”

“Um… hang on…” Kirsten looked around, studying the features of the setting she could make out. “We’re in a park someplace… I can’t tell where. John Doe is running down a jogging trail.” She glanced to the side and saw another figure, clad in dark clothes with a hat pulled down over his ears. “There’s another guy here… They’re not talking to each other though.”

“Does he have a gun?” Maggie asked.

Nodding slowly, Cameron relayed the question to Kirsten. “Is he the killer?”

“Um…” Kirsten paused for a moment, then shook her head. “No. No, I don’t think so. They might know each other… I’m feeling a familiarity towards him but no sense of any danger.” Then she winced. “Hang on; everything’s going blurry again…”

“What is it?” Cameron asked. “What are you seeing?”

She furrowed her brow as she concentrated. The two men in the memory continued down the trail, then another figure appeared ahead. When she saw him, Kirsten felt a thrill rush through her. She blinked as she took in the glow around this stranger; that usually indicated what the team had come to call a memory hotspot, meaning the person whose memories she was investigating had assigned a special meaning to that person or thing. If she could get close enough to touch the man, she might be able to get more insight as to why he was a hotspot for their John Doe, but for now, she’d have to settle for studying the scene further. “Okay, hang on… There’s another man… and there’s something about him…” Kirsten frowned. She felt like she knew this man, but she wasn’t quite sure why.

“Important how?” Cameron wanted to know.

“Um, not sure yet. He’s definitely important—he’s glowing—but I don’t know why. Hang on.”

John Doe and his companion were quickly closing the distance to the man ahead of them, and Kirsten felt that same thrill again… She furrowed her brow; it was a very distinct feeling and she couldn’t quite place it. It was a sort of eager anticipation, but there was an edge to it that scared her a little. John Doe moved ahead of his companion just as the third man paused as if he had heard them behind him. He spun around, and Kirsten gasped.

“What? What is it?” Cameron’s concerned voice came through the comm in her ear almost immediately.

“It’s Fisher! And he’s got a gun!”

Cameron’s voice rose slightly in pitch. “Wait, you’re saying Fisher killed this man?” he exclaimed.

Kirsten was about to reply in the affirmative when suddenly the entire scene around her changed. “Wait, I’m not there anymore…” The memories were coming at such quick speeds she didn’t even try to relay them to the others; she just sat back and watched. It was like the time she’d let Camille talk her into going on one of those carnival rigs that spun around and around at such a high rate of speed it pinned the rider to the side of the ride. The memories were flashing by, giving her just a peek into the event before she was moved on to the next one.

Several glimpses looked to be an apartment, and then a woman’s smiling face appeared, followed by a warehouse, and then Fisher’s face again. There were snatches of sound to go with each clip as well, although she couldn’t make out much. That is, until the memory of an older man suddenly appeared. The man was bald, muscular, and had a scar running from under his left eye to his chin. There was an air of authority about him, and when he pointed a finger directly at her, Kirsten felt as if she would do whatever he asked.

“Teach Finnegan a lesson,” the man growled, his voice deep and gravelly—and then there was Fisher again, pointing a gun right at her.

Almost at the same moment, she could hear Cameron yelling at her. “Make the bounce, Kirsten!”

Her fingers flew over the keyboard, entering her exit passcode as quickly as she could and pulling herself from the memories. The last thing she saw was the explosion of a gun lighting up her vision. The next moment, she was out. She sat up with a gasp, water dripping from her ponytail as she splashed to a sitting position and looked frantically around the room. She blinked rapidly, bringing her surroundings back into focus as she tried to catch her breath.

“Hey, hey, you okay?” Cameron asked worriedly.

Kirsten just nodded and looked to Maggie, who was standing beside Cameron. “I think Fisher killed our John Doe,” she said, her eyes wide.

Maggie put up her hands to halt the buzz spreading among the occupants of the lab. “Hold on. He must have had a good reason,” she said, pointedly keeping her voice low and steady. “Did anything else happen in that park? Did our mystery man do anything to him? Assault him in any way?”

“No,” Kirsten replied with a shake of her head. “It seemed like a normal walk in the park to me.”

“Well, you _did_ say the memories were glitching,” Camille spoke up. She looked from Maggie to Kirsten and back again, as if searching for an explanation. “That has to be it; you must have missed something.”

Maggie sighed. “I’m going to call the station—” As if on cue, her phone chimed, and she glanced down to read the message. Immediately, her face fell.

The others exchanged glances at her expression.

“…What?” Kirsten ventured.

When Maggie looked back up at them, her jaw was set, but her eyes conveyed just how worried she was. “Normally, I’d say there is no such thing as coincidences but… that just happened to be the station. Looking for Fisher. No one has heard from him since yesterday.”

* * *

Twenty minutes and approximately 500 messages later, they still had no leads on their missing teammate.

Linus was checking his phone for the umpteenth time as he ascended the stairs in search of Camille. He found her in the conference room, hunched over the table and muttering aloud.

“I don’t understand!” Camille had been glaring at her phone as if the device was intentionally withholding information, but she glanced up to see who had walked in as the door squeaked on its way open. “Fisher has to be in some kind of trouble, but he hasn’t reached out or responded to any of us.”

“He probably has a lot on his mind right now,” Linus said reasonably. He sat down next to her at the table and offered a small smile. “I’m sure he’s fine; he can take care of himself.”

That didn’t seem to ease her concern. She glared at him before turning her anger back to her phone. “Maybe it’s not working, and that’s why I’m not getting any new messages. Here, try texting me.”

“Camille, come on. You know that’s not it. You just texted _me_. Plus you’ve left him multiple voicemails, right?”

She growled. “Stop being logical, Linus, and let me have my emotions for a second, okay?”

“That’s not going to help Fisher,” he told her gently.

“Well I might be able to help him further if the LAPD would let me look through his casefiles,” she returned, pouting slightly. “Only they’re being all proprietary and refusing to let anyone outside of their department touch them. Maggie’s working on getting clearance for us to take jurisdiction, but you know how red tape goes.”

Linus smiled mischievously and pulled out a laptop from his bag. “That’s why I brought you this.”

“Linus, you’re a genius!” Camille leaned over and spontaneously kissed him on the cheek, then took the computer from his hands. She opened it up and then tilted her head to the side to pop her neck. “Get ready to get Camilled!” she announced to no one in particular before her fingers began to fly across the keys.

The door opened again a moment later, and Cameron stepped inside. Sighing, he dropped into one of the chairs circling the table. He looked across at the other two, frowning slightly as he took in Camille’s rapid-fire typing but not saying anything in favor of checking his phone. The look on his face was one of exhausted frustration.

“Still nothing?” Linus asked sympathetically, eyeing his friend from across the table.

“No,” Cameron replied with a shake of his head. He frowned. “I just wish there was a way to find him right now.”

As he was finishing his last comment, Kirsten pushed through the door and plopped down beside him. “There seems like there should be,” she remarked morosely, slumping in her seat to drop her chin onto her hands, which were flat on the tabletop. Then she lifted her eyes to take in Camille as the sound of keys being smashed in quick urgency caught her attention. “Or is there?”

Camille nodded distractedly. “Well, since we can’t track his phone, I figured this was my best bet.” That drew a soft snort of amusement from the other three occupants of the room, at which she stopped typing long enough to look up and glare meaningfully around the room. “What?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” Linus replied quickly, lifting his hands as Kirsten and Cameron smirked at each other.

“Uh huh.” She didn’t look convinced but let it slide, her interest still clearly invested in the contents of the screen of her laptop.

The others fell silent as she turned back to what she had been doing. A few moments later, she suddenly stopped with a sharp intake of breath. Three heads snapped to attention as they all waited for her to let them in on whatever she had found.

She looked up, her eyes wide. “Kirsten, didn’t you say you’d heard the name Finnegan in the stitch?”

Kirsten nodded in response. “Yes…”  she replied slowly. She was trying to figure out where her friend was going with the question. “Why?”

“According to these notes, a Seamus Finnegan was an informant in one of Fisher’s recent cases,” Camille replied, her eyes darting back and forth across the screen as she took in the information displayed there. “Looks like there was a pretty decent drug bust the LAPD wouldn’t have been able to make without this Finnegan guy.”

“Do you think he’s the one the person in the memory was talking about?” Cameron asked, looking to his left where Kirsten was sitting.

She sat back in her seat and shrugged a shoulder; the expression on her face told the others she was trying to keep her hopes from getting too high. “I mean, he could be. How common of a last name is Finnegan anyway?”

Meanwhile, Camille was still scrolling through pages on her computer. The next minute, she spun the computer around so the screen faced Kirsten. “Does this guy look familiar?”

The gasp from Kirsten was all the answer anyone needed.

Linus leaned in to take in the man’s mugshot. “Well, he looks friendly,” he commented wryly.

“Who is he?” Cameron asked with a tilt of his head towards the screen.

Biting her lip, Kirsten frowned. “I mean, he was definitely in the stitch, and there was just something about him… He was the one giving the orders in the memory.”

Turning the computer back towards her, Camille started tapping keys again. “Let’s see… Philip Marks… This guy has a record… A lengthy record, I might add,” she said, pausing to blink at whatever she was reading. “He’s even been investigated for murder, but there was never any evidence to convict him. The man has almost every other crime on his rap sheet though, most prominently drugs.”

“Is that why Fisher was investigating him?” Cameron asked.

Linus walked around to peer over Camille’s shoulder at the screen. He nodded slowly. “Yeah… Yeah; it looks like it.”

“Uh, excuse me,” Camille swiveled in her seat to look indignantly his way, “but do I read over your shoulder and bother you while you’re trying to concentrate?” Then she put up a finger. “Don’t answer that.”

A moment later, both she and Linus froze at the sight of something on the screen.

“Guys?” Kirsten prompted. “What is it?”

Camille blinked a couple of times. “Guess who’s a mutual acquaintance of both Finnegan and Marks,” she said as she turned the computer back around.

“John Doe!” Cameron and Kirsten exclaimed together.

“Well, Terry Isaacs, but yeah,” Camille shrugged.

“We have to stitch back in,” Kirsten said, ignoring the correction. “How long do we have before I can go?”

A quick glance at his watch and Cameron frowned. “Much too long. It’s only been about half an hour; our waiting period is more like twelve hours.”

“Then I guess we’re doing this old school,” Camille said, hunching forward in her seat as she started tapping away at her keyboard once again.

Moments later, the four of them were flying down the stairs with Cameron and Kirsten at the helm. They had to stop mid-stride to avoid running into Maggie, who was on her way up.

She looked between them, trying to decipher their expressions. “Someone please tell me you have some news.”

“Yes!” Camille nearly yelled in her eagerness to answer the question. She cleared her throat as everyone turned to look at her, then nodded. “We do.”

“And?” Maggie prompted.

Camille cleared her throat. “Okay, so Marks’ name is somehow associated in one way or another to several buildings in the area,” she explained as she waved the tablet in her hands. “Two houses, a car repair garage, and three warehouses.”

“There definitely was no garage in Isaac’s memories,” Kirsten offered. “And it didn’t look like a residence either; my guess is they’re operating out of one of the warehouses.”

Nodding, Camille poked at the tablet a few times before she looked back up to the others. “There’s one that’s regularly been drawing more power than the others over the past months. That must be where they are.”

“It’s as good a lead as any we’ve gotten so far,” Cameron observed.

Maggie nodded in agreement. “Camille, send me that address. Let’s go get our man.”

* * *

The first thing to register with Fisher was that he was oddly cold.

It was just the briefest of thoughts, and he didn’t have time to consider it for long before the pain took over. He took a deep breath and tried to push it to the back of his mind. Right now, he needed to focus and concentrate on figuring out _why_ he was cold and in pain and then figure out how to fix that. The rest could come later.

After a few moments and several deep breaths, he forced himself to open his eyes. A quick glance down told him he was okay overall. There were no bullet holes—at least, none as far as he could see. In fact, the only thing that seemed wrong was the state of his dirty, rumpled clothes—although he would be very unhappy if that mud didn’t come out; he had spent way too much money on this overpriced workout gear for it to be ruined by some goons with an unknown agenda. Besides, if he’d known this was going to happen today, he’d have made an effort to wear more than his athletic shorts and t-shirt. The room was frigid—a combination of the concrete surfaces and humming air conditioning, he guessed—and whatever pain was throbbing in his head was not helping matters.

Satisfied he was in one piece overall and not bleeding out, he looked up and glanced around. He was tied to a chair in a bare room, the concrete floor empty and the ceiling lined with pipes of some sort. Nothing much to go on there. He set to work tugging at the rope holding his hands behind the chair. There was a slight slack to it, and with persistence, he hoped it would give enough for him to wriggle out of it.

Fisher had to admit he was rather stumped as to where he was or why. He made a lot of enemies in his line of work, so any number of criminals could be the culprit behind his abduction—and that was just with the LAPD. His work with the NSA and their Stitchers program brought in even more cases and an entirely different set of enemies with their own vows of vengeance.

He could only hope the goons in the park had been more worried about getting him out of there before anyone who had overheard the shots showed up. If they had left quickly enough, they would have had to leave their dead compatriot behind, and there was a good chance the Stitchers program would be given the case. That’s what he would have recommended if he weren’t currently missing in action; a body in a park was not good for the city, and the powers that be would want to solve the case as quickly as possible.

Just then, the door squeaked open and drew his attention to the man entering, who smiled in satisfaction when he saw Fisher watching him. “Good; you’re awake,” he said coldly. He turned to motion to someone on the other side of the door, then advanced inside. Something about his stance caused a sinking feeling to start growing in Fisher’s gut. Nothing good was coming.

Another man entered after the first and shut the door behind himself. Cracking his knuckles, he grinned at Fisher. “So, you thought you could rat on us and not end up paying eventually?” he purred.

Fisher frowned. This certainly didn’t fit into any of the possibilities he had considered so far.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised.” Now the first man was chiming in. “We warned you this would happen, Finnegan.”

And then the pieces all fell into place.

“Wait, you think I’m Finnegan?” Fisher chuckled. “I hate to tell you, man, but you’ve got the wrong guy.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

His companion had circled behind Fisher while the other two were talking, and the blow seemed to come out of nowhere. It knocked the air out of his lungs, and all he could do was gasp breathlessly in shock.

The first man leaned into Fisher’s face. “Nice try, Finnegan. You’re going to regret every day you talked to the cops.” With that, he drove a fist into the detective’s abdomen.

Fisher blinked in what felt like slow motion as stars danced in his vision. He swallowed and tried to focus on the floor in front of him. It wasn’t as if he’d have to get out of this on his own. He didn’t have to last forever. Not really. Just until the cavalry arrived.

Of course, that cavalry could very well end up being a bunch of skinny twenty-somethings with no real combat experience. They had been known to make worse decisions, but for whatever it was worth, he couldn’t help hoping they didn’t show up alone.

* * *

This had to be the least-coordinated rescue effort Maggie had ever supervised. Or, if not _the_ least, it was a close second.

She had agreed to let the kids come along, against her better judgment, and mostly out of the knowledge they’d disobey orders and possibly get themselves killed if she left them behind. She had also thought it would be a good idea for her to ride with them while their armed backup followed in another vehicle. After all, someone needed to keep an eye on the quartet of lab rats. She was now starting to rethink her entire line of reasoning.

“No, I should go first!” Cameron was currently arguing to the others. “I’m the senior member of this team; I should be the first one out.”

“Oh right,” Linus shot back. “Don’t you remember when I drop-kicked that scientist guy?”

Now Kirsten joined in. “Well, I am the only one who actually saw these guys’ faces in the memories, so I should be first.”

Maggie was about to interject that, as the only one with any sort of training and prior experience, _she_ should be leading the charge. The men they’d be facing were going to be armed, for goodness’ sake. In the next second, she was thrown against the side of the van as the vehicle took a sudden turn. “Camille! Do you think you could use the brakes next time?” Maggie called to the driver, even as she put up a hand to brace herself against any further rapid changes in direction.

“Brakes aren’t going to get us to Fisher any faster!” Camille declared as she spun the wheel again, swerving in and out of traffic.

“Neither is you killing us!” Linus yelped as another quick turn sent him tumbling against Cameron.

Camille just growled and pressed the accelerator even closer to the floor boards.

“You are so hot right now,” Linus half-whispered as Cameron pushed him back into his own seat.

“I heard that!” she shot back over her shoulder.

“Okay then.” Maggie cleared her throat and opted to ignore their driver for the moment. She reached down and retrieved a bag under her seat. “You all need to put these on before we get there,” she instructed.

Cameron looked down at the vest in his hands. “Uh… are you sure we need this?”

In response, Maggie raised an eyebrow his way. “Did I say it was optional?”

“Technically you didn’t say it wasn’t?”

Kirsten had already pulled her own vest over her head and was fastening the straps. “Come on, Cameron; stop arguing and put it on,” she chided. “Don’t be so childish.”

“Me? Childish?” he laughed. “At least I’m paying attention.” He elbowed Linus to underscore his statement.

“Huh? What?” Linus pulled his focus back to the others from where he had been staring at the front of the vehicle.

Still holding out a third vest in his direction, Maggie raised her eyebrow even further. “Linus, we’re almost there. Put this on now.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he said distractedly, accepting the vest but then allowing his eyes to drift back to Camille, who was now laying on the horn.

She took her hand off of the button long enough to gesture at another vehicle. “Come on! I’m driving here!”

Maggie took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was seriously going to reconsider the idea of allowing _anyone_ without at least two years of combat experience to ever step foot outside of the lab for any sort of field work in the future.

“I don’t think this is right. Is this right? It doesn’t feel right.”

Maybe make that three years.

“Cameron, it’s not a down jacket,” Maggie snapped. “‘Bulletproof’ does indicate some sort of armor.”

“Oh, stop honking!” Camille yelled.

Cameron frowned. “No, but see, it’s not flush right here, and it rubs…”

“Mister Goodkin, it’s fine; now stop fiddling or you’ll make it worse!” Maggie gave him her sternest look, which seemed to do the trick in convincing him to sink back into his seat and quit prodding at his vest.

“It’s _Doctor_ Goodkin,” he grumbled.

Ignoring his muttering, Kirsten shot him satisfied look as she patted her own vest. “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

That was right about when Maggie started wondering if an actual van full of kindergarteners would be any easier to manage. Thankfully, the next moment, they were all thrown forward as the vehicle came to a sudden stop.

Camille turned around and announced, “We’re here. Is that mine?” She scooped up an unclaimed vest from the floor and pulled it over her head. “Let’s go; we’re wasting time.”

Maggie breathed a sigh of relief as she reached over to push the back door open. The fact that they had all made it in one piece was almost too good to be true. She turned back to address the other passengers, then sighed as she watched them tumble out of the van in varying degrees of readiness.

First out behind her was Kirsten, looking cool and composed as usual. Linus was right behind her, almost falling out of the back of the vehicle as he tried to reach the strap hanging behind him.

“Hang on, you guys; let me get this thing on.”

“Weren’t you paying attention?” Camille growled at Linus, as she came around from the driver’s side. “I mean, it’s not like Maggie gave you a PSA about bulletproof vests or anything while we were in there,” she chuckled with a smirk.

Before Linus could respond, Cameron was climbing out behind him, also distracted by the straps on his vest. “Guys, I still don’t think this is right.”

Kirsten reached over and gently slapped his hands. “Maggie said stop.”

“But it’s chafing right there—”

Kirsten raised an eyebrow.

“Fine. You know what?” he sniffed, tugging on the bottom of the vest as if to accentuate his point. “I'm going to blame you when I have a rash tomorrow. How about that?”

“Fine,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “As long as you realize you’ll only have yourself to blame when you get shot. Don’t give me that look; you know these guys have guns. Now stop messing with that, or I won’t come and visit you when you’re recuperating from a gunshot wound.”

Maggie groaned inwardly, then took a deep breath to steady herself. All that mattered right now was finding Fisher. They’d worry about lectures and possible reassignments at a later time. Definitely before their next stitch, but later. Then she looked around and frowned. There was a distinct lack of any other vehicles in the empty lot besides them.

Catching her look, Camille shrugged. “I guess they couldn’t keep up.”

On second thought, maybe a simple lecture would be too lenient.

* * *

“Who is this?” The angry voice broke into Fisher’s consciousness and drew his eyes open, however reluctantly.

The light was nearly blinding and forced him to squint and blink several times to bring the room into focus. There was an imposing figure towering in the doorway, taking up most of the opening and blocking Fisher’s view of what lay outside of the room where they were holding him. It was hard to see anything clearly at the moment, but one thing was sure: the air of complete authority the man carried about him. It wasn’t the type of authority that evoked respect in the honorable sense, but more in the fearful way, as if any disobedience would be met with immediate reprisal.

Just then, the man looked over and noticed Fisher blinking at him. A grin spread across his face, crinkling the scar running from under his left eye to his chin. He was older, at least twenty years Fisher’s senior, but his bulging biceps indicated just how capable he still was. “Well look who’s awake,” he said, his voice deep and low. “You know, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. At least not the way it did.”

Fisher just raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t quite find his voice yet, but somehow he didn’t think it would really matter. As soon as things had come into sufficient focus, he had known who the man was. Enough late nights bent over case files had served to emblazon Marks’ face into Fisher’s memory.

“I told my men to bring me Seamus Finnegan,” Marks continued, spreading his hands to either side apologetically. “I suppose I should have made sure the ones who went actually could tell the difference between the two of you.” He shot a dark look at the men behind him. “I have to thank you for taking care of one for me. Less work on my end,” he shrugged. “Don’t worry; the other has learned his lesson as well.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” Fisher finally spoke up. “Now, we both know there are only a couple of ways this can end, so why don’t we skip the ones where you incriminate yourself further? If you come in with me, you won’t go down for killing a cop, and maybe you can even manage to get a fairly good deal out of it all.”

Marks chortled. “Nice one, Detective, but unfortunately, you are also on my list, albeit a little farther down than our friend Finnegan.” He was close to Fisher now, and before he could get any more words out, Fisher headbutted him in the center of his face.

Rearing back with a howl of pain, Marks backhanded the Fisher with his right hand, even as his left went up to cover his nose. Blood ran between his fingers, and his face was nearly as red with rage. “Oh, you’re going to regret that,” he snarled. He put his hand up behind him to stop his men from advancing. “He’s all mine,” he told them.

Fisher tugged at the rope around his wrists again; it had been growing looser before the other men had beaten him to unconsciousness, and now it was his only chance. The team might be coming, but he had no way to know when they might arrive, and he had no time to wait.

As Marks pulled his pistol from his belt and raised it to point at Fisher, the last coil of the rope fell away. Fisher launched himself from his chair. He caught the older man around the waist and drove him backward. A wild shot left the gun barrel as the two men plowed into the wall, and Fisher drove a fist into Marks’ side. He grabbed for the man’s gun arm, knowing if he didn’t eliminate the weapon, things could go very bad very fast—

That was when chaos erupted from the other room.

* * *

The four team members had been surprisingly obedient to Maggie’s orders to wait for their backup to arrive. At least, they had been for approximately one minute.

Then Kirsten started for the side of the building. “I’m just going to look around,” she said by way of explanation when Maggie cleared her throat. “I’ll be careful.” She didn’t wait for approval before turning to continue forward.

With one look at Maggie’s less-than-pleased face, Cameron hurried to Kirsten’s side. “Why don’t I join you?” he asked. When she looked over at him with a raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “Otherwise, I’m stuck here listening to more safety lectures.”

Kirsten chuckled and tilted her head to the side. “Okay then, come on,” she invited.

“What do you think we’ll find?” Cameron asked as the duo rounded the corner of the building—

—just as a shot rang out.

They froze for just a moment, looking at each other in shock, then without a word, they both sprang into action. Cameron and Kirsten sprinted for the side entrance just ahead of their current position. When they reached it, Kirsten reached for the handle, then rattled the door in frustration. “Ugh. It must be locked from the inside.”

“Here.” Cameron stepped in front of her and put a hand on her vest, pushing her back. “Let me.”

She crossed her arms. “And what are you going to do? Kick it in?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” he returned smugly. He pulled his foot back and gave the metal surface his best front kick, then yelped.

Kirsten regarded the door with a raised eyebrow. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“ _Sure_ ,” he replied, although his slow pronunciation belied the word itself. “Yeah, totally.”

“Uh huh.” She didn’t look convinced.

“This is how they do it in the movies.” Cameron frowned at the door, then backed up a step. “Maybe I need more of a head start,” he said.

“Come on, Cameron,” Kirsten growled.

As he ran at the door again, it suddenly opened from the inside, and Cameron went stumbling over the threshold into the building.

“Cameron!” Kirsten gasped, running right behind him. She pulled up at the sight of the two people in front of them.

Camille was smirking in satisfaction. “What took you guys so long?” she asked.

“Did you hear that gunshot?” Kirsten wanted to know, looking around the empty room where they were now standing. It appeared to be a loading area of some kind. There were rows and rows of various sized boxes stacked on shelves lining the room, and several carts sat around for use in moving boxes and pallets.

“Why do you think we’re here?” Linus nodded in explanation. “Maggie sent us to look for you two.”

“She did?” Kirsten and Cameron asked at the same time.

Linus shrugged. “Well, she followed it with the instruction for us all to go back to the van and wait for the backup to tell them where she went, but yeah.”

“Fat chance,” Camille muttered. “I’m not sitting around while Fisher needs our help.”

Glancing around, Cameron’s eyes lighted on a row of maintenance supplies leaning against the wall to his left. He grabbed a broom with a thick wooden handle and passed it to Camille. “Well then, neither are we. Let’s go.”

Linus smirked as Cameron handed him a mop. “Ninja janitors, are we?”

“Hey, I’m improvising!”

Another gunshot rent the air.

The four exchanged wordless looks before running for the doorway leading to the rest of the warehouse—and ran straight into a very displeased Maggie.

“I told you to go back outside and wait for backup!” she growled, keeping her voice low so as not to attract attention from whoever was shooting.“I can’t do my job if I’m baby-sitting the four of you.” Her eyes landed on the brooms and mops they were holding, and she sighed heavily.

Before she could say anything further, there was a commotion from the entrance to their left as two men entered with guns in hand. They noticed the team immediately and responded by firing several rounds as they ran forward. The five team members immediately scrambled for cover behind a stack of crates sitting nearby.

Maggie jumped up to fire back, sending the men behind another stack of crates. She then ducked back down beside the others and looked over at them. “When I say run, you run for the door. I’ll cover you, but you have to move fast. Got it?”

“Got it,” came the chorus of low voices as they all nodded in acknowledgment.

“Run!” She stood and fired several more shots in quick succession.

They all sprang to their feet and ran for the far door, from behind which the sounds of an all-out brawl were now coming. No one stopped to heed Maggie’s yell of “Not that door!” as they bolted for it. They didn’t turn at her voice and so missed her hurried swiveling to cover the new direction in which they were heading.

Cameron was bringing up the rear, and just before they reached the doorway, he suddenly yelled aloud and fell into Kirsten, who was right in front of him. He hit the floor in a heap as she whirled around in annoyance.

“Cameron, watch…” She trailed off as she realized he was clutching his right side with an expression of pure pain creasing his face. “Cameron!” Her tone had instantly changed. “Are you okay? You got shot, didn’t you?” Even as she was asking her barrage of questions, she was scrambling to find the gunshot wound.

He was gasping for breath, and his face was drawn in pain, but he managed to shake his head. At the same time, her hands finally found the hole in his vest, and she regarded the indentation where the bullet rested with an expression of pure relief.

“Chafing or not, this thing just saved your life,” she told him, patting his chest, then ducking her head instinctively as another shot whistled past her ear and splintered the wall behind her.

“Just go,” he managed to get out, waving her away. “Find Fisher. I’ll… be fine.”

Camille and Linus had been watching worriedly, but when Cameron finally spoke, they both visibly relaxed. With one last look at Cameron, Kirsten picked up her broom, pushed to her feet, and followed the other two into the next room. As they scrambled inside, just ahead of several more bullets slamming into the wall, they came to a sudden halt. Linus ran smack into her back, while Kirsten pulled up just short of actually running into his at the quick stop.

“Oh hey, guys,” Fisher greeted them, looking up from his spot on the floor. Two other men, one of whom the others recognized immediately as Marks, were sprawled unconscious on the floor nearby. “Took you long enough.”

* * *

Although it was now well past sundown, the dark evening was lit up with the flashing red and blue lights of an ambulance and two police cruisers. There were also several black SUVs parked nearby, and the suited agents who had exited them were clearly there on a mission. One emergency vehicle had already carted Fisher away to the hospital, with Linus and Camille following behind in an NSA vehicle. The remaining ambulance was currently parked near the warehouse, with Cameron perched on the edge just inside the open back doors. He had a blanket draped over his shoulders and was sitting at a slightly crooked angle, clearly favoring his right side.

Kirsten was leaning against the door next to him, watching the various figures scurrying around in the strobe lighting and listening to something her teammate was saying. Both of them caught sight of Maggie heading for them, and Kirsten moved aside to make room as the older woman joined them.

“How are you feeling?” Maggie asked, surveying Cameron with a look that seemed to be a cross between worry and maternal annoyance.

“Oh, you know,” he returned with a shrug. “Nothing that won’t heal.” He cleared his throat and then winced. “Guess I should be grateful it wasn’t worse.”

Maggie sighed. “Yes, well, the next time I lay down cover fire for you, please make sure you actually run in the right direction so you don’t get shot.”

“So there _will_ be a next time?” he asked with a grin. “I would have thought you’d lock us in the lab after this.”

She regarded him with an unreadable look on her face. “Don’t push your luck,” she said after a moment’s pause. Then she turned on her heel and strode over to the warehouse just as several agents emerged with handcuffed prisoners in tow.

* * *

“I thought you said you wouldn’t visit me,” Cameron spoke up, smirking at her from the vinyl hospital sofa against the far wall.

Kirsten crossed her arms. “That was if you were recuperating from a gunshot wound. All you have is a couple of cracked ribs. And I’m visiting Fisher; you’re not even in a hospital bed.” She ignored his exclamation of protest to turn back towards the bed. “How’re you feeling?” she asked the detective.

“Better once they let me go home,” Fisher replied. “I mean, it’s not like I got shot or anything.” He shot a dirty look towards the door. “But for some reason, they want to keep me overnight.”

“Oh, they’re just trying to make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Camille said, looking up from the magazine in her hands. She was sitting sideways in the chair beside the bed, her legs over one of the arms. “We’d rather you came back to work in one piece.”

Fisher just made a face.

“How’s Finnegan, by the way?” Linus asked from where he was sitting beside Cameron. “Did they get to him at all? Or they just thought you were him and left it at that?”

“Yeah,” Fisher nodded in the younger man’s direction. “Maggie’s making sure all the proper paperwork gets filed to put him under official protection until we make sure the entire gang is rounded up. But it seems like they didn’t have time to fix their mistake before you all arrived.” He shifted in the bed and then winced and put a hand to his side. “Apparently Marks didn’t make sure his guys all knew who Finnegan was before he gave the order; I guess it’s a good thing for Finnegan they didn’t.” He shrugged and yawned.

Kirsten frowned. “But not for you.”

“Yeah well,” he shrugged, “it comes with the job.” Then he yawned, interrupting whatever he had been about to say next.

“They give you the good stuff?” Cameron asked, looking meaningfully at the IV bag hanging beside the bed.

Fisher smirked. “Yeah,” he replied. The others could see his eyelids growing heavier with each blink.

Reaching over, Kirsten patted the top of his hand. “See you tomorrow, Fisher.”

He half-raised his hand in a farewell gesture, but then his hand dropped back down beside him as his eyes drifted closed.

Camille hopped up from her chair and made a shooing gesture with her hands, herding the others towards the door. They all filed into the hallway, and Linus pulled the door shut.

“Guys, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” he said, rubbing at his stomach. “Rescues really take it out of me. Who’s up for pizza?”

“I’m bushed,” Cameron said, yawning and then wincing as it pulled at his side. “I just want to go home and rest. But you guys go ahead. Have fun.”

Kirsten crossed her arms. “You can’t drive yourself!”

“It’s cool,” Camille spoke up. “You guys go get something to eat. I can totally drive Cameron home.”

There was a brief pause, and then three voices all started talking at once.

“You really don’t have to do that. I can call a cab. Wouldn’t want to put you out.”

“I’m not even hungry; I can drive him home. You and Linus go get some food, and I’ll just meet you back home later.”

“He can totally walk; he’s fine! I’m not actually that hungry. Why don’t I take you home instead?”

Frowning, Camille looked between the others. “Guys,” she chuckled, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you didn’t trust me to drive him home.” When she didn’t get a response right away, she raised an eyebrow. “Oh come on, guys! It wasn’t that bad.”

Linus coughed.

“Uh, how many red lights did we run on the way to the warehouse?” Cameron asked, directing his question to Kirsten but with a sideways glance at Camille.

Camille crossed her arms. “Okay, seriously? It was Fisher! He was in danger! Doesn’t anyone remember this?”

“I remember almost broadsiding a Mack truck,” Kirsten offered.

“Fine.” Camille put her hands up. “You know what? I’m going to drive myself home— _safely_ , I apparently should add—and drown my pain in an ice cream carton.”

Before she could turn to leave, Linus patted her on the shoulder. “Nah, come on, Camille. Let’s grab some pizza and meet Kirsten and Cameron back at his place. The doctor did say we needed to watch him tonight with that head injury.”

“Now wait a second,” Cameron interjected. “I really wasn’t thinking of having a party tonight.”

Linus frowned. “Who said anything about a party? It’ll just be movie night on your couch.”

Taking in the look on their friend’s face, Kirsten laughed. “Come on, tough guy. Let’s get you home,” she said, patting his left shoulder.

Cameron reluctantly followed the others to the elevator, but he had to smile to himself. They meant well, he knew that, and he had to admit he was grateful for friends who would drop everything to make sure he was okay—

“What? What’s wrong with my driving, Linus?”

“Nothing!”

“See, your words say that, but your face says otherwise!”

—even if they did drive him crazy sometimes.


End file.
